


"Desert Blossom (The Scent of Innocence)"

by Abby_Ebon



Series: All That Glitters [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Mummy (1999)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry (kind of on accident though not-really) seduces Imhotep after the party in Ancient Egypt, at the very beginning of the story – in the chapter, Shades of Panic; "Why Death Is A Jealous Lover", what if Nefertiri hadn't led him away so early on? More importantly – what if Death had a real reason to be jealous?</p><p>Ah, fan-fiction within fan-fiction, isn't it bafflingly refreshing?</p><p>… Smut, obviously. …</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Desert Blossom (The Scent of Innocence)"

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shades of Panic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/452063) by [Abby_Ebon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon). 



_This celebration, from the start, promised to last a long time, and it wasn't very long before some were led stumbling away – drunk. Seti announced he would go on a chariot ride, before dusk, and there were many murmurs of approval._

_When Seti left, it was near_ _ noon _ _–_ _Anck-su-namun_ _snuck away, giving Harry a look – as though she_ _ knew _ _what Imhotep had done –and blamed Harry._

\--

" _Harii, I am going to go to my chambers now – do not worry, Imhotep will take care of you. Just tell him if you require anything_ …" Nefertiri told him softly – as though not to startle him, her hand laid warm against the skin of his shoulder- Harry found it quite hard to focus on anything just then. Nonetheless, Harry after blinking a few times at her – he nodded slowly in understanding.

Nefertiri and Imhotep spoke in hushed, rapid whispers, Harry knew –somehow – that he should have been paying attention to what was going on, but he couldn't bring himself to care. With the warmth of, whatever it was he had drunk – or been drugged with, seeping into his mind – numbing him pleasantly, he found himself willing to give Imhotep a second chance. After all, Nefertiri and her father seemed to trust him.

Perhaps what had happened after they had left them alone earlier that day had merely been a misunderstanding?

Sometime later (he didn't know how much time had passed, and it didn't seem to matter) Harry had worked it out that Nefertiri _had_ left, and Imhotep had taken her place - sitting beside Harry, watching him. As Harry stared blankly into Imhotep's dark eyes, Harry felt himself grow somewhat tired, as those reminded him of the night sky – of sleep, rest. Death.

Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest, though he did not know – or understand - the reason – he whimpered softly – not wanting to cause a scene. When Harry dared to look up at Imhotep, he saw something in his eyes – something that passed before Harry could understand it. Perhaps it had been an understanding sympathy– maybe worry or pity – or even, Harry wondered with amusement at himself, lust.

Whatever it had been, was real and, most importantly, was directed toward _Harry_. Showing, just for once in Harry's life, someone who was a stranger – who could use him (though he did not think Imhotep would do that) – felt something toward him other then hate or hero-worship. Even if it was lust Imhotep felt toward him...he was tired of being alone - his heart beating rapidly at his own daring, Harry laid his head on Imhotep's shoulder.

It was warm, a musky sort of warmth from sun and sand that enchanted Harry, and though the muscles beneath the skin shifted with tension – Harry could not resist nuzzling his cheek against Imhotep's bare shoulder.

" _Harii…would you like to go to the chambers granted to you_?" Imhotep's voice seemed to be strained, though soft enough that Harry did not cringe from the volume of it – he found himself particularly sensitive to his senses. _Must be the drug_ , Harry thought absently, although he could not complain – the warmth and texture of Imhotep's skin against him made Harry feel a needy pleasure heat between his thighs.

" _Do you mean - do I want to go to bed_?" Harry asked in turn, finding Imhotep's phrasing difficult to unravel. His voice is soft and questioning, reminding Harry that he sounds far to much like a child, rather then the teenager he is.

" _Yes, Harii. That is what I meant_ …" Imhotep allowed, smiling slightly despite that he was supposed to play the part of High Priest – and priests of any sort did not smile while boys half their own age cuddled them in the middle of a dinner party. No matter that Harry felt… _right_ , pressed against him – even if it was in a drunken stupor (or, more sinister – drugged - as Nefertiri had suggested).

" _No...I…I don't want to leave you alone_." Harry remembered softly, his voice very rough as he gazed at the others with hooded eyes. They tried their best to pretend they did not see them, but Harry saw the loathing for Imhotep (and perhaps himself?) in their eyes. Strange, that he had not noticed it before.

" _Come. Let us get you to your rooms, you are not fit to tie your own shoes, let alone dine among…jackals_." The last word was softly hissed, as Imhotep – seeing and realizing why Harry had said what he had – wrapped a possessive arm around him and hauled him up from the ground. Harry half leaned on him – not aware of it, he was clingy as they walked, forcing Imhotep to pause every once in a while so that Harry would regain his balance.

" _I don't want to be alone_ …" The confession of the words was random – but not necessarily, as Imhotep knew well from experience, untrue.

" _I will sit with you until you fall asleep then_." At Imhotep's words – Harry looked up at him, green eyes wide and surprised, though frankly dauntingly honest.

" _Really_...?" Green eyes pleaded with him to whisper, to touch – to seduce. Hastily – before he could be tempted, Imhotep looked elsewhere. He found himself looking ahead. They had stopped abruptly from the entrance that led to Harry's chambers – merely a few foot steps away. Imhotep could not find it within himself to be frustrated, not with Harry looking up at him as if Imhotep held so much of Harry – as if, if he hinted the wrong thing, Harry might shatter.

That was something Imhotep was not used to – no one trusted him, he was the embodiment of a God that abused – that used - that lied, which _killed_. That was evil – but then, what God or Goddess that could not be tempted by the dark? His God was merely an indulgence of such darkness – a figurehead for it –a ruler of it. Imhotep had willing followed that God all his life – to do that tainted ….twisted a person. Imhotep had once thought, merely a day ago, that he was surely evil for loving the wife-to-be of the Pharaoh, of plotting with her to overthrow him, so they might have a chance of being together.

Harry was not evil – that was plain enough from a glimpse of those bold green eyes – how could Harry put so much trust in him, when merely that morning Imhotep had lusted after him? Had touched and shaved him, had indulged in teasing him – how could Harry still – somehow - trust him?

Imhotep found himself looking back at Harry – daring to meet his eyes as he answered – and with a heavy heart, spoke.

" _Truly_ …" Imhotep answered softly, sure that he would not – if given a choice between reason and carnal instinct – abuse such blind faith ever again.

Harry – caught off balance by looking up at Imhotep and trying to walk onward after reciving his answer - stumbled badly then. Imhotep, before he could think to do otherwise, reached out for the youth and caught him, holding him against him for a few precious moments before he found, frustratingly, that could not hold his own weight and they tumbled together against the stone wall in a tangle of limbs.

Imhotep found his back pressed to the hard stone wall – and in his arms, Harry lay sprawled against him. Looking down at him, Imhotep could not help but notice how petite and – well – short the youth was compared to his own build.

 _Such a delicate creature_ , Imhotep mused as Harry raised his head to look him awkwardly in the eye – then, flushed prettily – chose to stare at Imhotep's collarbone.

" _Thank you_." Harry whispered breathlessly against Imhotep's neck, unknowingly sending pleasant tingling shivers along his skin –Harry only knew he _had_ tensed, and Harry – noticing this, frowning in a disapproving sort of way.

 _I want to smell him_. Harry realized, the desire humming through him like a arrow, shakily he inhaled – drawn in close by the heat crawling in a place lower then his navel, he bent till his lips ghosted Imhotep's neck. A wet tongue lapped at the salty sweat that sitting in the evening heat had created.

Imhotep's body jerked in his surprise, but he did not pull away – merely staring down at Harry in a horrified sort of way - his eyes having widening at the touch of the wet heat against his skin. As he watched, stunned – the boy began kissing from neck to jaw – with every breath and touch of lips or tongue, Imhotep found his groin hardening, becoming so needy it was nearly too painful to bare.

Soft and gentle, Harry's lips touched his own – pressing, earnest – and very eager.

" _Harii_ …" Imhotep did not know, exactly, what he would have said to deter the younger man, and he did not get a chance to consider it further. Harry could be very determined when there was something he wanted – right then, what he wanted to do was taste Imhotep – so he did. The wet heat licked at Imhotep's lips playfully before pushing in – unlike the kiss, he was not "soft or gentle" – he was demanding and possessive.

Control was something Harry was not very good at – and when Imhotep raised his hands to pull off the wig, and tangle his fingers into Harry's dark-as-night hair – he didn't want it.

"… _Please_ …?" Harry begged shamelessly, his lips brushing the shell of Imhotep's ear as he spoke, and feeling the bulge against his thigh – Imhotep knew exactly what Harry was asking for.

One of his hands cradled Harry's head against his pounding heart, the other dared to touch the skin of Harry's thighs just beneath the hem of his loincloth. Harry gave a eager little moan – soft and needy, arching against Imhotep's hip.

" _As you wish_ …" Imhotep purred softly into Harry's dark hair, holding the youth to him – he felt the boy whimper as his hand that intimately touched his bare thigh went higher, cupping and massaging his rear.

Harry made soft whimpering moans – rubbing himself against Imhotep, every inch of his length touching Imhotep in some way as he pressed against Imhotep's thigh – where it _throbbed_ against the heat of his skin– over his own groin – where both moaned and panted for each other – against the flat of Imhotep's lower stomach - which made Harry arch, panting, and begin to thrust against Imhotep all over again.

Imhotep held Harry to him by his hair (not that he thought Harry would want to be "escaping" very soon) pressing their bodies together as he held him. When Imhotep's fingers pressed teasingly against the parting of the twin globes – Harry's breath caught in his throat – his eyes flicking up to meet Imhotep's own.

There was fear – need, want - and pleading that passed between one breath and the next, before Harry clung to him – his nails digging painfully into Imhotep's shoulders – drawing blood from the skin as he was forced to bare Harry's weight. Harry's legs and thighs wrapped around Imhotep then; anchoring him against his flesh, and entrapping Imhotep against the stone.

Imhotep found he had watched Harry intently as he touched him – teased him – but watching Harry was like hearing him, both drew out Imhotep's desire – as Harry kindled it like a flame.

Imhotep's fingers abruptly made contact with Harry's entrance, pressed against it – made Harry moan and move wantonly against him. Trusting suddenly in Harry's ability to cling to him – and in gravity to hold them up right against the stone Imhotep was trapped against – both Imhotep's hands met Harry's thighs.

Carefully, Imhotep lifted him so that the head of Imhotep's cock pressed against his entrance – the pre cum and gentle throbbing of Imhotep's length against his most intimate place served to relaxed and prepare Harry far better then any stretching Imhotep could have done.

Mostly, though, it made him beg to feel all of Imhotep finally _move_ inside him.

So that's just what Imhotep did – listening with delight as Harry groaned (nails digging in deeper, teeth sinking into his throat to taste skin and blood if he so dared to draw it) arching (pressing his length upward along Imhotep's stomach as he did so) succeeding in pushing himself off Imhotep only to carefully be let slid down again.

Harry was a teenager – as Imhotep well knew, and teenagers did not last forever – the constant touch of skin on skin, and the feel of Imhotep in him – moving – and the rush of pleasure caused by the pressure against the tiny bundle of nerves deep within him.

Not to mention the drugs that heightened all of this left it completely understandable that with a weak cry and a shiver that trebled though his small frame, Harry came – warm liquid suddenly against Imhotep's bare stomach – hearing him and feeling him react to his orgasm left Imhotep gasping as he held Harry tightly to him and came within his lover.

After he could breathe normally again, he lifted the now dozing teenager, carrying him bridal style the last few steps to Harry's chambers. With care and a certain amount of kindness that could not be forced or faked he laid the boy down and covered him with a thick blanket – for he knew the desert may be unbearably hot in the day, it was chill in the night.

The moment he stepped into the hall, he knew he was not alone.

A shadow with the image of a God he knew well emerged from the darkness; his blazing eyes burned molten silver into Imhotep – lips pulled back from fanged teeth.

" _ **Forget**_." Imhotep blinked and in a daze walked away to meet his fate – eerie star-like eyes gazed at Harry – for a moment, they softened – then, with purpose the "God" followed Imhotep, leading him back to the party – where his golden skinned slave priests awaited him.


End file.
